Bad Doctor

45

“I’m seventeen,” Willow says.

“ Shit!”

“Wait.” She puts her hand on mine. “Before you get angry, can I say three things?”

I sigh. “Go ahead.”

“First, I’m nearly eighteen.”

“How nearly?”

She looks up and to the right, like she’s counting. Then says, “Eleven days.”

“We’ll have to celebrate. What’s the second thing?”

“The sex wasn’t that bad.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I think it was mostly the circumstances.”

“I get that.”

She looks at my expression and laughs.

“What?”

“You’re suddenly happy, aren’t you!” She shakes her head. “Men. Jesus!”

“What’s the third thing?”

“The third thing is even though you’re angry about shagging a minor, can we have a nice, quiet dinner, and pretend we’re an ordinary couple? Just once?”

“A couple? Us?”

She laughs again. “Don’t get any ideas. I just want to pretend I’m on a real date with a nice guy.”

It suddenly dawns on me that Willow-Amy-has never been on a real date before.

“You don’t think the people around us will notice our age difference?” I say.

“Not if we don’t bring attention to ourselves. Can we do that? Just this once?”

I nod.

“I need to use the restroom a minute,” she says. “Will you excuse me?”

I stand when she does and she says, “That was nice of you. Thank you. And thanks for holding the door for me earlier.”

“Just because I’m a jerk doesn’t mean I don’t have good manners.”

She cocks her head.

“I think it sort of does mean that,” she says. “But thanks for doing it, anyway.”

While she’s gone I fight the urge to check my phone. Dani said there’d be much more information coming. But things are going really well with Willow-Amy-right now, and if she catches me checking my phone again it might hurt her feelings. Whatever it is can wait till after dinner.

When she returns, I stand and hold her chair for her. As she sits I say, “Should I call you Amy?”

“No.”

“In eleven days you’ll be legal. It won’t matter if your uncle finds you.”

“True. But I’ve had better luck being Willow.”

“ That’s hard to believe.”

She smiles. “I met you, didn’t I?”

I remember what Rose said about how I’d find the right woman where I least expect to. Could she possibly have meant Willow?

No.

Yes!

I mean, here’s the thing. I’m not kidding myself. I know in the real world Willow would never have the slightest interest in me. But we’re in her world, and it’s a private hell. She has no family, no money, no best friend or boyfriend, and she’s dying.

She needs me.

Am I afraid she might be using me?

No. It’s obvious she’s using me. And I’m okay with that.

I like her. I genuinely do. She’s got a hell of an attitude, and…

And she makes me happy.

What doesn’t make me happy is how the lights have suddenly gone dim. A broken-down warhorse with Tammy Faye Bakker makeup struts onto the stage and asks the crowd if we’re having fun.

Well, I was, till this happened.

The lady on stage tells the crowd she hopes we love Karen Carpenter half as much as she does, because she’s going to open her set with a tribute to her. Some audience members appear less annoyed at the intrusion than I am, and applaud politely. She asks someone named Claude to cue her music. He does, and she starts singing. I bet the audience wishes they could get a refund on their previous applause. While Karen Carpenter’s velvety voice speaks to my heart, this bleached bimbo’s over-the-top karaoke impersonation makes my teeth itch.

Willow notices the look on my face.

“Which do you hate, the song or the singer?”

I point at the stage slut, who notices me and reacts as if I just volunteered to be her shill.

She tells Claude to stop the music and says, “Well, hello, handsome!”

I look around to see if she might be speaking to someone behind me.

She’s not.

She walks over to Willow and says, “Please dear, introduce me to your father.”

The crowd cracks up.

“He’s not my father,” Willow says, “He’s my boyfriend.”

“ Really? What a shock!” the lady says, and the audience laughs again.

She sticks the mike in my face and says, “Aren’t you afraid she’ll give you a heart attack?”

“Fuck off,” I say, before realizing everyone in the place can hear me.

She says, “Ooh, I love it when cute guys talk dirty to me! How about a kiss, doll?”

“How about I rip your lips off?”

“OOH!” she says. “Daddy likes it rough, does he?”

Willow gives me an urgent look and whispers, “Please. Play nice!”

To the audience, the singer says, “Hey everyone, did you hear? Daddy likes rough sex!” They reward her with a smattering of nervous laughter.

“Do you like Karen, sweetie?” she says.

I look at Willow, who’s trying not to look embarrassed. I nod. I’ll play nice.

“Karen Carpenter?” I say. “Absolutely.”

“Quick,” she says. “Favorite Carpenter song!”

“Rainy Days and Mondays.”

She sings, “Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down.” Then says, “You like that, sugar?”

“Not anymore.”

This time the audience laughs for me.

“You know what I like?” she says.

“Apart from annoying me?”

More laughter

She laughs. “Funny and cute! Girls, hands off this one. He’s mine!” She looks at Willow and says, “After you max out his credit cards, of course.”

The crowd murmurs their disapproval of her picking on Willow.

Undaunted, she says, “My favorite is Close to You. Am I right everyone? Who doesn’t like Close to You?”

“Me,” I say.

“What? Daddy doesn’t like Close to You?”

“That’s right.”

She shows me her shocked expression and I suddenly realize this isn’t just a Karen Carpenter impersonator, she’s a female impersonator! She says, “ Close to You? Are you kidding me? Burt Bacharach? Hal David? Be careful, doll, those are local boys.”

“The song makes no sense,” I say.

“What do you mean?”

“Birds suddenly appear every time you are near.”

“It’s romantic,” she says.

“It’s insane. Would you want to date someone who, every time he approaches, is surrounded by a flock of birds?”

Audience laughter.

“Just like me,” she sings, “they long to be…close to you!”

The audience laughs louder. A number of diners clap their hands, enjoying the show, convinced I’ve been planted to enhance the show.

“See? It’s romantic,” she says.

She puts the mike in my face and I say, “What about the stars falling from the sky every time you walk by? That’d be pretty damn dangerous, don’t you think?”

The audience laughs.

She frowns, thinking about it, then looks at Willow and says, “You can keep him, sweetie, he’s a jerk!”

She abruptly turns and walks back to the stage to continue her set.

I lean over to Willow and say, “That’s a man!”

“Ya think?” she says, sarcastically. “What tipped you off? His Adam’s apple, his voice, or his hard-on?”

“He had a hard-on?”

She sighs. “So much for not calling attention to us.”

“Sorry.”